The Devil's Graveyard
by Amigodude
Summary: Business is not usual for Dutch when the boss of the Chinese Triads comes a calling. The next delivery run for the Black Lagoon Company could be fatal for the crew if loyalties are not chosen wisely. And the new girl has a bad attitude.
1. Chapter 1

**THE DEVIL'S GRAVEYARD**

Disclaimer: Black Lagoon and its characters © Rei Hiroe

Rating: M for mature

Note: Would like to acknowledge unkeptsecret for letting me work off the scene described in Sweet Attack and recognize her assistance in making this story far better than anything I could have done on my own. Thank you!

* * *

**Chapter 1: Ain't No Use Singing the Blues**

"You know what I really enjoy, Dutch?" said Chang amiably, adjusting his trademark white silk scarf. "A good cup of coffee. And I have to admit, this is pretty good."

The coffee was cold, and hours old. I blinked from behind the safety of the sunglasses as Chang drained the cup in one swallow. The evening sun striped him like a tiger through the slats of the shades. You didn't hurry Mr. Chang; you waited for the man to tell you what it was going to be.

Chang leaned back against the thin cushions of the ratty couch and threw his line in. "I hear you're looking for talent?"

"I'm always in the market for talent, Chang-san," I said evenly, taking the bait. "But a company needs regular work to keep good employees."

Chang laughed. "Point taken. I knew that I was right about you."

I knew then. The hook had been set.

Chang stood up. He ambled over to the window and looked out between the slats. His hands buried deep in the pockets of his dark trench-coat. It didn't take a genius to realize that I was supposed to follow, so I got up and joined him.

His mooks milled about the dock by the black limousine, smoking and talking. All except the girl. She stood apart from the men, the shadow stretching from her feet as lean and sharp as she was. Maybe still in her teens, maybe starting twenty, who knew. A small backpack clutched in one hand. Head turned away, as if she was staring out on the mirror of the city bay. I felt my skin prickle all the way up to the base of my skull. I knew this one.

Chang paused. Finally he spoke, almost in a whisper as if he was afraid the girl could somehow hear. "I think she would do well in the Lagoon's line of work. I'll rent the back apartment from you for her. Six months' rent, up front."

I knew how to keep my opinions to myself, but I had to raise an eyebrow at that.

"Hold up," I protested. "Pardon my old-fashioned ways, but I need a heavy, not a girl."

Chang smiled. "Row. Do you remember Row Kallak? Malaysian? Quick on the trigger and the temper?"

"I didn't know he was in the past tense," I said. "My man Riff will be happy to hear he's departed. How'd it happen?"

Chang's smile got wider. He looked at his watch, the kind of look that meant time was up. "Row got too heavy."

I didn't get a chance to say anything else. The phone was ringing.

Chang made for the door, "I call her Two Hands. Ask her why."

As soon as Chang was gone down the metal stairs, Otis ghosted out from the back. He made for the window. As wide as I was big, he moved on dancer's feet. He bent the slat with his little finger, the sole remaining digit on his right hand and peered out. Otis kept quiet as I spoke on the phone to the Russian.

The call was short; the woman on the other end dictated without niceties, the voice clear and concise through the hisses and clicks. The details would be arranged in person by intermediaries. The big bosses such as Balalaika didn't usually leave themselves open to eavesdropping. This piece of business was too well timed with Chang's departure to be accidental.

Otis fidgeted while I handled the call. Finally he spoke, his deep voice an octave higher with curiosity when I hung up the phone. "Where does Chang get off saddling us with this bitch? We don't work for him. Who was on the phone?"

I shrugged, "For the same reason the Wa family insisted we take Riff. What's she doing out there?"

Otis pushed his face against the slats. "Let's see... Chang said something to the bitch before he drove off, and she turned white as a pastry. She's just sorta standing there now."

"Best we can hope for is she'll walk away," I said without any conviction.

"Naw, it's better'n that," giggled Otis, his attention wholly back on her. "We're getting a strip tease. Whatta body. Damn, listen to that mouth...Hey, who was on the phone?"

I looked out. Chang had fixed the girl up in the uniform black and white of the 14K. Now the slacks and shirt were drifting off in the oily eddies as the tide went out . Twin splashes for the shoes followed. The cursing was audible.

"Looks like a Chink, but sounds Brooklyn," observed Otis. "What the fuck's up with that? You got anything on this one?"

"A little," I replied. "But I don't give a damn where she came from. What matters now is where we're going..."

"You didn't say who was on the phone," Otis asked for the third time with a sideways glance.

"No, I didn't."

--

"Oh, Dutchie, Dutchie," said 'Emily' Wa with a pout. "What's the bullshit about Chang dropping some prison slut off at your dock?"

She sat down beside me on the bed and let the silk robe slide to her waist. She had almond skin and sloe-eyes I put a hand in the thick fine hair, smoother than the silk robe and pulled her down beside me. She was Emily to me because I couldn't pronounce her real name.

"Appears you already know all about the new hire," I said. Riff had already spread the news. She rested her head on my chest and sniffed audibly through her flared nostrils. The room smelled of sandalwood and jasmine from the smoldering incense sticks. Damn unpleasant stuff clung to the humid air. "I still have to interview her though. See if she's all she's advertised to be."

"Is she beautiful?" she asked. A trace of jealousy coarsened the words.

"No class," I said. No point telling Emily the girl was a hard-body with legs a track-star would envy. "And young enough to be my daughter, so she's not going to be the latest flavor. Otis and Riff, though-- they're definitely looking to get in her pants."

"Heh," her petite little brow wrinkled. "You can't be serious. You aren't planning on keeping the creature. She's Chang's little piece of foolishness. Rumor has it he hauled her sorry little ass out of the Big Tiger and spent more than half a year turning her into a gunslinger, like something out of a John Woo movie."

"Fuck!" I exclaimed. That was news to me. What a price to pay for keeping your mouth shut over a Triad hit. They called Bang Kwang Maximum Prison the Big Tiger because the place eats you up. "I didn't know they sent women there. Place is a pisshole!"

She poked me in the ribs, "You're being a big bad, black _farang. _Yes, you are. You're keeping a story from me. I love stories, Dutchie. Tell me a story."

"Not much to tell," I said with a ghost of a smile. "Chang's 'little piece of foolishness' is an American runaway. She showed up on my doorstep a few years back – so I set her up at a dive shop and think the business is over. She fucks it up and next thing I know she's floundering about the harbor waving sea cucumbers at the fishermen!"

"Goes from bad to worse," I continued as Emily's head slid down my torso. "Tries to run with the Thai street kids but she's too old and doesn't speak the language. Finally she breaks down and tries to get a job at Jackpot's place."

"I knew it," exclaimed Emily triumphantly, working the distance with her tongue. "She's a whore."

"She never got the chance," I avoided the obvious and rebutted the statement. "Jackpot botched it up all ways to the nines, told me the story later. Tried sweet talking the girl down into that dungeon setup cause the girl struck him as a natural dominatrix. The instant she saw all the gear the girl went full bore ballistic, pulled a gun on him and bolted. Problem is, she bolted right into a crime scene out on the street and got arrested. End of story."

"We should check out Jackpot's dungeon," said Emily looking up with an avid gleam. "He's a sweet one, that Rowan."

"Hey baby, I'm not into that shit," I said lighting up a cigarette and blew out a cloud of smoke in a steady stream. The nicotine smell cut right through the cloying incense. "A man and a women got to respect each other, even when it's horizontal."

"You're such a bullshitter of a lover," grumbled Emily. "You're in Mickey Wa's bedroom banging Mickey Wa's wife and you're talking about respect? And you're pumping me more for information than for love. I should call the guards."

"Maybe if Mickey Wa kept his woman happy, maybe said woman wouldn't be making all sorts of nasty with me," I observed idly. "We both know what he's up to when he visits Pat Pong with his pretty boy lackey, the amazing Chin."

"Tell me one thing," said Emily with a desperate, but empty snarl. "Just tell me that bastard Chang didn't offer the Black Lagoon a deal if you'd hire that girl. You work for us, Dutchie! You work for the Wa Family! Fuckin' Chang and those bastards in Hong Kong are letting that filthy fried bitch of a Russian take our territory. We were here first! We won't be run off."

"Chang didn't offer me a deal," I said. "The Black Lagoon Trading Company has no agreement with the 14K. Now, Emily, I'm sick of talking about business. Let's make like mimes."

Emily was a lousy mime.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: C'mon, There's a Devil to Pay**

"Stone cold," exclaimed Otis. "Fuckin' a stone cold!"

"_Jai yen,_" I replied. "Nothing but a cool heart." We stood in the back, in the welcome shade of the warehouse. The hot, humid air mingled with the stench of the dumpster to our right. I lit up an American Spirit cigarette and offered the last one in the pack to Otis.

"So you knew all this time it's been a setup," Otis growled softly. He rubbed the razor bumps adorning his thick neck. "But you've been waiting, stringing him out till the time's right just like we used to do with Sir Charles. Hey, is this perique?"

"Something like that." Yeah, what he said, I guess they were. I crumpled the black labeled pack and let it drop to the concrete. A cigarette's a cigarette to me, I wasn't a fancier. I rested one foot on the ammo box I had brought out.

The girl staggered by, her face twisted in frustration as she struggled with another crate. There were bruises already on the front of her thighs and the forearms looked raw. She should have worn something other than a frayed pair of cutoff shorts that crawled up her crack and left her ass cheeks hanging out. The wet black top clung to her tits as if it had been painted on. We had started loading the boat at sunrise, and it was well past noon. She absolutely refused to take off the shoulder holsters with the matching guns. They had to be getting in the way.

Riff strolled after with the usual bilge spilling out his pie hole. He wasn't carrying shit, just dogging after her. The one eye that Row Kallak--- excuse me-- the deceased Row Kallak had left after a brutal beating gleamed with an interest that wasn't work related.

"... Yeah, anyway I was with the Pha Kor gang back in the day. We'd loot and plunder, and if any of those boat people gave us problems, BAM! We'd sink their sorry asses, take their women and run them about the islands having ourselves a good time. What do you think of that? You like islands? Beaches? I know some beaches where we can..."

When Otis got mad, his head would sink down into his broad shoulders. They used to call him Bulldog in the smoke filled boxing gyms of Alabama before he got drafted. His eyes narrowed. "I'll do him," he said.

I shook my head. Riff's voice got swallowed by the thick air as the two made their way down the dock towards the boat. My boat.

The Thai government classified it as an antique. But a lot of money had to grease the right palms, so the Thai military wouldn't get nervous about the fact I had my own private warship. That last final day in a long past April as the remnants of the Vietnamese navy sailed out to join the US Seventh Fleet for the exodus to Subic Bay in the Philippines, Bao and I had taken the rusting, barely seaworthy PT boat out to sea. In the chaos and confusion, no one noticed or cared that we were sailing the other way -- to Thailand.

"The FNG's got some serious ink. Bet she got that shit done at the Big Tiger," remarked Otis.

I blinked. Took me a moment he meant the girl. Didn't realize the acronym was genderless. Score one for the fat man.

"So what we gonna do?" asked Otis. "How we gonna do this?"

"Chang's giving us an out," I explained. "The Russians are merely a convenience. The job's on a strictly cash on completion basis. We take it or we don't. We can sail out of here tomorrow, do the delivery to the Pha Kor gang at the Devil's Graveyard like we usually do for the Wa's, and call it a day."

"And?"

"And when the Wa's go down, we go down with them. At the best we'll be left out in the cold and the Thai authorities impound the boat. They'll come up with a handy list of crimes and violations we've done over the years. At the worst, we'll get red dots painted on our foreheads by some Russian sniper while Chang downs a martini, and the story's over."

"Motherfucker!" swore Otis. He ground out the cigarette butt with a vicious twist. "So how does the FNG work into all this? What the fuck's so special about her? Does she have good phone manners? Can she make a cup of coffee?"

"She's a write-off, just like us," I said, amused. "Emily let a bit slip, but not enough. The Triads won't touch her. Neither will any of other big operations. Without a rep or proof she can't hang out a shingle as a freelancer. So here we all are, and we're short on time."

"How can you be so damn cool?" grated Otis.

"Because I see opportunities," I explained. "I'm tired of being dicked over by Mickey Wa. We're barely able to operate the boat with what he pays and that son of a bitch has too much on us. I see which way the wind's blowing in Roanapur, and Mickey Wa doesn't have the breeze. We can be free and clear and working for clients who deliver."

"You mean free of Emily," jabbed Otis. "Hey, be cool, Blood. I followed your lead in Nam, I'll follow you now. I hope you're right though... oh, there she goes."

A muffled scream of rage came from the boat. Something splashed into the water. The girl liked throwing stuff. It wasn't Riff though, as we could see him running about the deck and waving his arms like the worthless idiot he was.

"What a fuck-head," Otis said. I wasn't sure whether he meant Riff or the girl. "So what's our play with the FNG?"

"Let's see what she's got first before we start handing out pink slips," I adjusted the sunglasses. "We need to find out if she's the kind of receiver who can catch a Hail Mary pass with no time on the clock. Otherwise we'll have to get out of Dodge."

--

"The cargo's all loaded and secured," yelped Riff. He gulped down the last of the water noisily. "All we need to do is gas up, and we're ready to see the boys. Shit, be good to see the Pha Kor again."

Otis detached himself from the wall. He smacked the empty water bottle out of Riff's grasp with his mutilated hand. "I'm thirsty, Riff."

Riff backpedaled with a greasy grimace and tugged at the straggly string of pearls dangling from his ear. "I'll be right back."

"We're all thirsty," Otis suggested softly.

"Heard ya!" Riff jogged into the warehouse.

"Didn't properly introduce myself last night," said Otis, taking point. "I'm Otis, first and last. Appears you know Dutch, and you've had the pleasure of Riff's company all morning."

You would have thought we'd work the piss and vinegar out of her, but she was dropping us both a prison stare. Perversely, she refused to step into the shade, though the sweat poured off her brow.

"Revy... first and last," she threw the phrase right back with a snap of the sodden ponytail.

"Well... girl, don't know if I can work with someone who can't control themselves," Otis grunted. "Yellin' and screamin' and throwing stuff in the harbor. Don't give a fuck you're a girl, but keeping it cool is how we work. Otherwise we're all in a world of trouble real quick. You got it?"

"That one eyed prick wasn't doing anything," she protested heatedly. "I got fucking tired . I did what ya told me to do, but I'm not getting' paid to be a donkey! Fuck, I don't even know what I'm getting paid for. Fuckin' boats' a rust bucket piece of shit if you haven't noticed."

Otis made an unpleasant sound deep in his throat, and tilted his big head to the side. "Dunno Dutch. I don't think she's worth our time. Bet Chang didn't call her Two Hands because of those shiny little guns."

Revy's expression changed. The eyes suddenly went wide and unfocused, the tightness sliding off her face quicker than the beaded sweat. The tip of her tongue slid out between the parted lips. The clenched fingers spread and flexed.

"Try me Pinky," she said.

I said, "Stand down."

I took my foot off the ammo box, knelt down and flipped it open. Slowly pulled out the magazines and the prepped moon clips. The girl's face stayed blank.

"Made a special visit to Sister Magritte this morning and picked these up," I told them. "Paid more than I should have. Now, I don't care if you come with Mr. Chang's or the King of Thailand's personal stamp of approval. We need to know what you're good for. These are simunition rounds, non-lethal – but they can used in real guns. Those are Berettas, aren't they girl?"

Revy nodded. I tossed the mags over, and she caught them quick, no fumble.

Otis and I both packed customized Smith and Wesson Model 629s. Made sense for us to pack the same hardware. Otis was a bit slower on the reload what with his missing fingers, but he'd adapted.

"Sister Magritte sends her love," I remembered to tell Otis as the live bullets dropped to the ground. We'd pick them up later. "Says you should come up and visit her before she leaves. They're rotating someone new in; a Sister Yolanda or something."

"Damn shame the sister's leaving," Otis glared down at his gun, showed us both the cylinder with the simunition before he locked it back into place in the frame. Revy silently pulled the slides back on the Berettas showing she was clear of live ammo and then she racked both slides simultaneously. I nodded in approval.

"Okay, here's what we're going to do..."

"I got the water," Riff announced breathlessly. He held the filled bottles aloft as proof.

That's when she did the drop. Revy shot us all, just like that. Both guns cracked in unison. Otis and I took hits to the chests. She corkscrewed down to the ground into a cross pose facing Riff and let loose with another double blast for good measure. The little man dropped to the ground shrieking and grabbing his midsection as the water bottles flew in all directions.

I stared at Otis, startled as hell. He stared back, mouth hanging open as he looked down at his chest. The simunition hit on my sternum stung like hell. It was going to leave an impressive bruise.

"That's what I do," announced Revy. Her hands quickly completed the business of removing the simunition magazines and inserting the live ones back in, ejecting the training rounds from the chambers of both guns as she stood up. "So, is it good enough for ya?"

Otis wheezed and bent over his gut slapping his massive forearms on his bent thighs. I remembered to breath myself. Riff kept squealing in his fetal position. Talk about full-on sphincter pucker factor.

Otis started giggling, then it became a full fledged bellow of a laugh.

"Fucking hot-shit bitch," he roared. Revy finally looked alarmed. "Dutch, you dumb fool – girl don't like playin' by the rules. She chewed us up before we even started!"

I snapped, "Shut your goddamn mouth."

I turned away, lit up a cigarette slowly just to prove my hand wasn't shaking. Waited for Riff to get up on hands and knees and for Otis to get over himself. No point running the girl through the paces, she'd made her point.

"We'll call it a day," I decided. "We'll do the Graveyard run tomorrow. I expect you all here at 0400 hours sharp. Don't care what shape you're in, be ready to go."

"She shot me, she shot me," groaned Riff.

Otis pointed that lone finger on his right hand at the wary girl. "C'mon, Ms. Revy. Let's take a drive. We're going to the Yellow Flag, and we'll line up the shot glasses to celebrate you joining the crew."

"Huh," said Revy with a righteous lift of the chin. "I don't drink, Pinky."

--

Riff was too happy. He couldn't conceal the smirk when he handed the phone over.

It was Emily. She wasn't calling me Dutchie tonight.

"Chang's creature. Get rid of it," she snapped, straight to business. In the pause that followed I could feel Mickey Wa listening close.

I hesitated for a moment. "What do you want me to do?"

"Give her to the Pha Kor." Her words cooled the evening air, the tone hard and clipped. "We'll send what's left back to Chang and his Russian whore. Teach them what it means to mess with the Wa Family."

"I'll take care of things," and hung up before she could say anything else.

"Get out," I told the smiling Riff. "You'll have your fun tomorrow."

Waited till I was sure he was gone and I was alone in the makeshift area of the warehouse that we used as a backup office. Just me and the flickering bulb humming above.

What had Malcolm X said? "Stumbling is not falling."

Sorry brother, I couldn't afford any missteps at all. Time for some fancy stepping as I faded back from the rush. Had to hope the receiver was ready for the pass.

I picked up the phone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Gonna Get Extreme**

The morning was a beautiful haze of blue and gold, barely noticed by us as we slipped past the faceless statue of the Buddha and started our run. Once fully underway, we all went into our own solitary spaces, the three of us who started the voyage conscious.

Our biggest expense with these trips was always fuel. A PT Boat of World War II design burns high octane aviation gas at a phenomenal rate with only a six hour there and back radius. So we had made the necessary fixes to the boat, giving us a wider range for our... activities. The _Black Lagoon_ could go 24 hours if necessary using secondary engines instead of the powerful Packard engines. We'd be needing those later.

Otis and I were in the bridge at the controls. I drove the long hours of the morning as we beat our way down through the chop towards the Malaysian border and the rendezvous with the Pha Kor. Otis slept off his hangover, snoring heavily, and then joining me in mutual silence as the afternoon dragged on. Riff was back in the day room out of sight with the communication gear and with a false sense of his own security.

Riff's lack of loyalties had never been in question. Months ago, we had deliberately broken the red indicator light on the ship intercom in the day room. Riff had no knowledge that we could listen in on him at his station whenever we wanted.

We smoked and waited. The boat rode out a brief squall and back into the setting sun. We both went through a full pack each, the butts littering the deck around the metal struts of the seats. The air got stale and thick.

"There's Phuket," Otis finally got sick of the silence. "Not much different than Roanapur, more tourists."

"More law. Can't cover all the bribes," I replied.

"How about Roj?" Otis rasped. But he was merely talking, retreading over old ground. "We've hooked up with him before."

"Only a matter of time before we'd be among the corpses chalked up to his name," I grunted. "Doesn't matter if it's Roj, Luak, or the Pha Kor. I won't sink to that level. Better to run the boat aground, set it on fire, and retire like old-timers are supposed to do."

"Hmph," Otis went back to wrestling the wrong thoughts. Without cigarettes, all we had was down time and toothpicks. Had to keep him loose or he'd work himself into a state.

"The girl said she didn't drink," I asked. "What the hell'd you do? Were there any problems last night?"

"No problems, no one messes with the fat man," Otis chuckled. "As for Ms. Revy, she doesn't know how to back down. Bao said he wasn't gonna make any fruity drinks for her so she'd better belly up or get lost. She got all sulky and told him to line up the shots."

"How'd she handle the booze?"

"She stayed cool for a couple of hours," Otis said. "Then she lost the coolness. Started ranting about how she was gonna take Mr. Chang's scarf, tie it around his balls and lead the big boss around like her little pony. Then she power barfed on Bao and passed out at the bar. She got a round of applause from the usual crowd."

"Too bad for Bao," I commented. That was pretty damn funny. I throttled back on the engines gradually, slowed the boat to a crawl. We had daylight to burn.

"Yeah, Bao said she's not to come back. He was pissed. When we left, he was picking Ms. Revy's puke out of his mustache."

A toothpick's no substitute for a cigarette. I spit the wretched thing on the deck. "First she's a bitch, then she's the FNG. Now you're callin' her Ms. Revy. What's goin' on, Otis?

Otis squirmed in the seat, scratched at the razor bumps on his neck, "Sorta cute..."

"Get past the tits and ass," I said brutally. "Girl's a gang-banger in the true. You think the ink's a fashion statement? I got the goods on this one: killed a cop stateside and that's only part of the rap sheet. Chang would have let her rot at the Big Tiger if he knew more."

"I'm just saying," mumbled Otis.

"I'm saying don't go soft on me," I told him. "Beside you're too damn old and..."

The intercom squawked. Riff was on the VHF radio hailing the Pha Kor. We were closer than I thought to the Devil's Graveyard, within twenty miles. I cursed. Otis leaned close to the intercom and listened with his eyes closed, head rocking.

The fat man had a knack for languages. The navy should have used him as an interpreter instead of a crew-hand in the BWN way back on the Song Cau Lon river patrol. Didn't matter to him if they spoke Thai, Vietnamese or Malaysian – he could tell you to fuck off in all of them.

Riff liked the sound of his own voice. He did the talking, whoever was on the other end mostly listening and agreeing. I could tell that much.

"He's tellin' them to get a party goin. Break out the booze," Otis confirmed.

"Same shit as always."

"Riff says we gonna give them the girl." He opened his eyes and glared at me. "Are we Dutch?"

"Maybe. Emily said to get rid of her. We'll see how it goes."

"I can't do that."

"You stepping up to me? What happened to I'll follow your lead? I thought I was the quarterback, not you."

"Fuck you."

"I'm not the one getting all knock kneed over a pair of tits," I said. "Get your focus back on. What's shit-head saying now?"

"He's telling them Mickey says to take us out when we pass over the guns. Riff gets the boat – it's like you said yesterday," Otis smiled grimly. "Today's special is fucked-over. "

"Motherfucker's outta string." I knew this moment had been coming down the pike, but knowing ain't the same as feeling. I saw red. Saw myself putting the shotgun to Riff's head and blowing fragments of his putrid skull all over the boat deck. Time to come on like a hurricane. I stood up.

"You ready to do some killing Otis?"

Otis looked too serious for my good. "Depends on who gets the killing."

"Cut the shit. If you're worried about 'Ms. Revy', don't be. She's with us. But don't get to thinking she's the damsel in distress. I got somethin' hardcore for her to pull off and she may not have the guts. We're all stepping up to the line."

"Got it."

"What I want you to do is in five minutes shut the boat down, then tell dead man walking we got engine trouble. Keep him out of my way."

--

Your days come and go in a routine, and you get stale. Then in a heartbeat, it's over; the mistress remembers she has a husband, loyalties are bought and sold at bargain-basement prices, and someone wants to steal your boat. Sounds like a song with a steel guitar and a pale-ass yodeler in a sequin shirt. I shook the thought off and went down the hatch.

I wrinkled my nose when I stepped into the galley. This girl Revy was in worse shape than I expected. She was passed out, stomach down, on the length of the footlocker where Otis had discarded her with the logic of a drunk instead of in the crew quarters. Head half off – one arm flung forward, the other one dangling off the thin mattress. A puddle of vomit by the discarded boots explained the smell.

Shook my head slowly, there was no way she could pull off the stunt I had dreamed up last night. Maybe a Navy Seal operator with years of training and combat experience, instead I had a hungover punk with a bad attitude. I was expecting too much.

The black tank top had ridden up, exposing most of her back. There on the side was a raised white scar, evidence of a long healed exit wound. Someone had tried putting Revy down once. She'd survived, just as she'd survived Bang Kwang and who knows what else. Maybe the girl could pull off the impossible.

Revy hadn't taken off the shoulder rig, the grips of the two custom Berettas stuck out like stunted wings. Moving silently, I eased the guns out of the holsters trying not to brush up against her skin. When I had them, I stepped back and put the cold metal out of sight in the small of my back, tucked into the waistband. Not the smartest place, but it would have to do.

"Girl," I said. The only response I got was a listless groan.

This time I prodded her with a boot tip. I wanted to keep my distance.

"Oh crap," she thrashed about and opened a dull eye. Fumbled at the tank top and pulled it down. "It's Captain Dutch. Aye, aye and all that shit. Where the hell am I?"

"What happened with the dive shop?"

Revy sighed and shook her head, so the long, dark hair covered her face. "I knew this gonna come up at some point. Can't it wait? Last night I had lightning in my head, now all I hear is thunder. Lemme sleep."

"You could answer the question," I said softly. I had thunder in my temples also, but for a different reason.

"I screwed up, okay?" Revy muttered into the mattress. "I smoked some hash and got shown the door by your buddy. Are ya happy? Shit, that was years ago. What'd you expect me to do? Come cryin' back like a helpless little bitch?"

"Would have been better if you had," I said. Revy must have thought there was a touch of regret or pity in my tone because she stiffened visibly.

"Hey, asshole!" she snapped. "You were there on the street when that guy ate the bullet outside Rowan's creepo-house o' sleaze! Did you step up when those those fuckin' pigs decided I did the hit for the Triad? No! I saw you walk away! And I didn't see ya in the courthouse when they handed me a one way ticket to the slammer!"

"Wasn't my business," I told her.

"G'way dipshit," Revy extended her middle finger and rolled away so she was facing the bulwark. "I'm calling in a sick day."

I looked up at the low ceiling. The day room was aft of the galley. When the fireworks started, Riff would hear the commotion.

"The Wa family put the mark out on you." I stepped back a little further. Would need some personal space.

"Who the fuck are the Wa?" she growled.

"The Lagoon Company works for the Wa family." That got her undivided attention.

She groped for the missing guns, and finding the holsters empty coiled up her legs and exploded off the footlocker with a howl.

The problem with an airborne attack is that if the other person knows it's coming, you're nothing but skeet. I swept the punches aside and drove a hook into her solar plexus, dropping the girl to the deck. I couldn't afford to back off, she was too damn dangerous, so I was on her in a moment, pulling a flailing arm tight against her back in a hammerlock before she could recover.

Even pinned, Revy kept fighting and bucking. She kicked vigorously back. The strikes might have done some damage if she had kept the boots on. As it was, it only hurt a little. I gave her nothing.

Riff cheered and shouted encouragement. He peered through the half open bulkhead doorway from the day room. I was sorely tempted to throw the girl aside and make use the Smith and Wesson right then. Instead I pulled the struggling hellcat to her feet and forced her towards the crew quarters, away from the engine room.

Right on cue, the engines shut down.

Now Otis was bawling for Riff to go topside. Riff's head vanished reluctantly with a final shouted word of sleazy advice.

I gave her a good hard push so she went sprawling headfirst into the crew quarters and into the pile of scuba gear I had laid out in the tight space between the bunks. Slammed the door while she scrabbled to her feet and spun about to face me in a fighting stance.

"You son of a bitch, you're selling me out?" she spat in a voice thick with rage. "C'mon you shitter, you wanna piece of me? I'll fuck you up!"

I held up the guns. "You want these back? Then shut up and listen. We needed that little show back there to look like lambs to the slaughterhouse. Someone has to believe you're going to be a party favor for the Pha Kor tonight."

She snarled, lips drawn back over her teeth. Her eyes were flat and cold, with no fear showing at all.

"We're not partners by choice," I told her. "This is all a matter of convenience. But you came to me in good faith and that can't be said for someone else, and he's gonna pay."

No change in her stance, but at least she was listening.

"I made a special call to Mr. Chang last night. He told me you'd swim a half mile each morning as part of your training?" I pointed at the scuba equipment at her feet. "So, girl, you still remember how to use that stuff from the dive shop, or were you too busy smoking hash?"

**note:** Otis is referring to Viroj Buasuwan, a real Thai pirate who earned the nickname "Roj of the100 Corpses" for throwing captive crews overboard. Viroj was arrested in 2002, and is on death row – at the Big Tiger.

**Note 2: **In light of Dutch's dubious background as revealed in Black Lagoon 74, perhaps what Dutch told Caxton was based off of Otis's war time experience, not his own. I blame the OC.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: In Super Overdrive**

The girl would have been bored with the tale of the Pha Kor-- fishermen who considered piracy a way to spice up the daily routine. No need for a history lesson when the Pha Kor were the worst of the worst. Putting on warpaint like their ancient ancestors, the _Orang Laut, _and leaving the Gulf of Thailand littered with floating corpses when the Vietnamese fled their country back in the early 80s. Even the Sarkhanese bitch known as Great White had been an amateur compared to the Pha Kor.

The girl could have cared less that in recent years the Pha Kor had been reduced to client status to the Wa family. Drug running and 'toll' collecting on tramp freighters with illicit cargoes in exchange for weaponry delivered by yours truly for the Muslim insurgency in Southern Thailand. Why a Russian freighter flying under a Cambodian convenience flag was anchored at the Devil's Graveyard in their possession mattered not one jot to her, but that tramp freighter mattered to Ms. Balalaika and Hotel Moscow. Ideally they wanted the freighter back but would settle for the second best choice.

Revy greatly cared about the second choice, especially when I mentioned the payoff.

"10K in American dollars for one night's work, half of what we're getting from the Russians when they pay up," I finished telling her. "Almost two hundred thousand baht. The only catch is if that you fuck up, the Pha Kor will tear you to pieces and stick your head on a pole. They're not merciful."

She couldn't hide the gleam of greed in those brown eyes. In her mind, it was a lot of money and worth the risk. "Fuck, I don't care. My _khwan hai _went AWOL long time ago. I'll do it."

"You're what?"

"My _khwan hai – _you know, my spirit," Revy explained as if I was the idiot. "That's what the other prison timers used to say about me. That my butterfly must have flown away and never come back, some shit like that. Never could figure it out myself. I guess they were trying to say I was a psycho bitch – Thai style."

I shrugged.

"Wet suit. Do we have one?"

All eagerness with no experience, but asking the right questions. I might have smiled. What the hell was I thinking? But I kept talking, giving her room to back out. "No. Didn't exactly have time to dig one up last night."

The web-belt and tattered shorts dropped to her ankles with an insolent flip of the hips. Hell, I wasn't that old. She had a pair of legs.

"Water's warm. Bikini briefs," she announced and snapped the waistband. She kicked the clothing aside and sat down cross-legged to check out the used scuba gear and flippers.

"Hey, hey! Keep your mind in the game! How about an Aug?" she asked. "Or an SPP-1? If we're working for the Russians, they should have come up an SPP-1 or somethin'? I can't take the Cutlasses for a swim."

"Makarov, nine mil, 8 round single stack mag – double shrink wrapped in heavy plastic to keep the water out for the swim and totally tossable – like the scuba gear." I passed it over. "Look, stealth's gonna save your ass. If it comes down to shooting, then you better save the last bullet for yourself."

"What the...," she winced, eyes screwed up when she saw the gun. "And how do I get it out of the plas... never mind. Here's the knife. And these are the demo charges and the timing detonator. You gotta be screwing with me! Two of these little blocks are gonna do the job?"

"Only..." I paused and repeated the word for emphasis. "**Only** if you place them with the storage containers loaded in the hold. Anywhere else and... what? You're not in class, girl."

Revy was waving her hand about.

"I don't wanna sound like a dumbass, but..." she looked embarrassed, then let the words out with a rush. "Why am I doing this? Ain't this a torpedo boat? Why don't you just go fwhoosh Ka-BOOM! Drinks ahoy and all that shit?"

"Oh. Those." I took off the sunglasses, scratched at my chin. "The torpedoes are original from the forties. I checked out the mechanisms once. Rusted through. They're good for show, nothing else. Maybe if they fell on someone, they'd do some damage."

"Fucking lame," she groaned with a roll of the eyes. "Thank you, Chang-san, for this chance to prove myself with a bunch of old farts and a wreck of a boat! Oh crap, my head hurts. I need excedrin, lots of excedrin."

"I'll get some from the galley," I offered. "Stay here and out of sight. Get yourself ready to go when we say go. Okay?"

"I want my Cutlass Specials back," Revy demanded petulantly. She held out her hands like a child waiting for candy.

I'd been waiting for the request and shook my head.

"Not right now," I told her. "I need the guns to put someone off his guard a while longer."

--

Otis was crouched over, poking at an engine cylinder with a rag, his forearms glistening with oil stains and grease. The two were back in the engine room. Riff stumbled over an exhaust hose as he struggled to hold up a work light.

"How was she?" Riff regained his balance with a leer and grabbed his crotch. "Can't wait till I have a go at her. Fuckin' cunt shot me twice, I'll show the twat how it feels."

"Bitch ain't so tough without the guns," I grunted and tossed the guns aside in a clatter. Fed his nasty little fantasies, then shut them down. "Got her hogtied in the quarters. But what the fuck are you doing down here? Get on the horn and tell our friends we're running behind schedule. Won't be at the Graveyard until after dark."

"I'm on it, Dutch!" he blurted. The one remaining eye had a nervous tic going in sync with the strand of pearls swinging from his ear. He hesitated.

"Why you sweating, Riff?" I couldn't help myself. "Too hot for you or what?"

"Ah, no, it's not anything," he babbled. "I'm thinking about... uh...you know... my turn. Wanna smack that bitch around till she screams."

Otis stood up, wiped the palms of his hands with too much vigor on the greasy rag. The bulldog was ready to take a bite.

"Won't get a turn at all if you don't do your job." I jerked my thumb, and Riff went past me. "Check the radar too. Make sure nothing's moving out on the gulf. The two of us will be right up."

We waited till Riff was out of earshot, then I spoke to Otis. "Two minute warning. We drop him when the party line shuts down. I don't want the Pha Kor to think anything but what they want. You good?"

"Captain says the word, first mate does the deed," Otis's tone dropped to a murmur. He shut the halogen off, but his eyes held a fading gleam in the gloom. "Like old times, me and Gaan hunting Sir Charles back in Nam."

--

The snot-green sea. The scrotum tightening sea. That crack-head mick had recited Joyce from memory that one night at the Yellow Flag, and he was so right... it was all around us, with the coastline stretched out along our starboard side. Cold salt spray stung my eyes as I drove from the cockpit in the remaining twilight. The moment never lingered in the South China seas. We'd be in the dark soon enough.

Headsets were on. I shouted into the mouth piece. "Riff, what's going down? You skating on us again?"

"I'm not slackin', boss, "Riff's reply was clear and indignant. "Osman says to pull up to the dock. He'll have the boys ready to help unload in fifteen minutes."

I'm sure they'd be happy to help, help themselves to my boat. I'd keep them waiting. Riff had done his part.

"What? I can't hear you," I lied. "No, never mind. I need you out here."

In a moment, Riff was out of the day room, and he sidled up cautiously to the side of the cockpit. "What? What? My headset's working. I heard ya, boss."

"It's like this," I started, and he cocked his head at me. "Osman's boys are gonna go hard on the girl. So why don't you get your rocks off while she' still pretty..."

Otis came up behind the little man with no warning. He would have been unheard even if the engines weren't going at full rumble. The right forearm snaked around Riff's neck while the left draped itself across Riff's face, the thick fingers digging into the empty eye socket. There was an audible crack as Otis twisted the head violently back around. Riff danced a little dance and I saw the pupil of the remaining eye roll up.

"S'okay, s'okay. Let it go." I knew what Otis was saying, I could see him mouthing the words into Riff's ear as the man shut down. Riff sagged in his grip and was gone.

"Side!" I shouted. Otis nodded, his mouth hung open a little, tongue hanging out – as a dog when it has run too much. The fat man let the body roll off the deck where it disappeared in our phosphorent wake. Couldn't let it bother us. Riff had been planning worse. Forget about him, and I did.

We were busy strapping on the night-vision goggles now that it was total dark. Our world-view was shades of the emerald city. Up ahead I could see the sharp angles of freighter wreckage off the entry of the Devil's Graveyard. I swung the boat out to deeper waters to come around into the bay.

Otis clambered with difficulty into the gun ring-mount on my right and readied Ma Deuce, our twin fifty cal. We had enough lead for a mad minute, then we'd have to go to the backups. Otis had an M-16 and a shotgun, I had the Milkor MGL grenade launcher ready in the cockpit plus the Remington Magnum. We were ready to rock and...

I throttled back the engines, reduced our speed down to the minimum. We'd been so focused on Riff we'd forgotten something important. Revy was still below.

"Otis?"

"Yeah, Blood?"

"Go get the girl. Say nothing about Riff. We don't need the noise."

--

Revy crouched on the port side by the cockpit as we crawled past the looming shadows of rusted hulks that flanked the narrow entrance and the low lying hills surrounding the bay.

Back at the end of the Big One, a flotilla of Japanese transport barges had made the small bay near the border of Thailand and Malaysia the final stop. Three hundred samurai wannabes had decided a mass stomach cutting and head lopping ceremony was the only way to show the Emperor the proper respects. The British pursuers from Singapore had promptly named the spot the Devil's Graveyard. The Pha Kor only made it worse when they took up residence, rep wise with their looting and raping over the years

Maybe the girl didn't know enough about it to be spooked. Maybe she didn't spook. She looked way too comfy with the air tank strapped onto her back, flippers on feet, and dive bag strapped at the left wrist. She'd gotten a bit crazy with the black grease stick and had striped herself up like a drunk zebra. I noted she'd taken the step of attaching the flare with a cable tie to the side of her bikini brief. Smart girl.

"Fifteen minutes top," I told her again. "No doubt, no hesitation, pure zippo. We provide the cover. Hit the hold, plant the detonators, get out. And when you ditch off the boat swim like hell. If we don't see the flare or we buy it, then do yourself a favor and drown."

"Do it or die. I get it," Revy nodded with a grin that was all about the tearing and ripping. "So do we synch our watches like in the movies?"

She was shaking. Not from fear or cold, total adrenalin junky. If Otis was a bulldog, she was a pitbull – straining at the leash. So wrong, too young – mental in all the wrong ways. I would have let her slip off the side and into the dark if she had but asked. But here she was poised for a suicide run and thinking the odds were in her favor.

We were in the channel and going in against the tide, the engines purring and the water gurgling by. And then we could see the outline of Balalaika's missing ship at anchor in the bay. One of those anonymous, decrepit coasters that plied that waters of the Gulf. Nothing more than a rusted 70 meter barge with a bridge jammed on the rear as an afterthought, lying low in the water.

Beyond on the shoreline I could make out a jumble of huts and sheds piled up around a rickety wharf. Had a Mekong moment when I counted the boats. There were about fifteen small motorboats pulled up at the shore, far more than I wanted to see.

A large bonfire was burning on the beach close by. They had started the party without us, we were fashionably late. Through the goggles I could see little figures lurching about, eery green goblins outlined against the light of the flames. A _Nang _shadow play arranged for our benefit.

"Five o'clock, we got company," announced Otis. I whipped my head around from the show in front of me. Two small boats had been hidden behind of the rusted wrecks by the bay entrance and were following along in our wake with no lights showing. Osman obviously thought if we spoke he could cut off our retreat with these rowboats. I was insulted.

"Kid, you gotta go now," I told the girl, and she nodded, adjusting the mask and mouthpiece. "Two hundred meters against the current. All you."

Revy saluted me with the middle finger extended and tumbled over the side unnoticed by our followers.

"Dutch! Dutch!" Otis shouted. "Hold up minute, this ain't gonna work! Get her back. We gotta bug out."

"Too late. What's the matter?"

Otis leaned out perilously over the railing of the gun mount and bellowed across at me for all the world to hear. "How's Ms. Revy gonna get on the boat? Girls can't climb worth shit!"

"You goddamn pile of suet and gristle," I yelled back. "Of course she can climb! She'll go right up one of the fire lines, or if she's lucky right up the rope ladder. It's a goddamn coaster, not like she's gotta scale a cruise liner! And the Pha Kor are too dumb to have anyone on that coaster."

"Then they got smart!" Otis pointed. He was right. The night vision goggles showed me silhouettes moving about the boat. They were carrying rifles and clustered on the port side where Revy would surface.

"Did someone kick God in the balls and not tell me?" I cursed. We had to slow things down, give the girl the time she needed to get to the coaster but keep the Pha Kor focused on us, the bait. So I shut the engines down and let the boat drift askew in the channel.

"Watch the water line. Give me a head's up when she comes up by the ship," I pulled off the night vision goggles and scrambled out of the cockpit towards the stern. In a moment I had the search light turned on and lit up our back-door pursuers.

Caught off guard, they squinted into the beam and flailed their arms about. Only one had the decency to even pretend, carefully putting his gun down and picking up a fishing rod. He made a big show of casting the line into the murky water.

They shouted at me, I shouted at them, and we went back and forth with a lot of gestures. The only words that were understandable were 'Riff', 'Osman', and 'Bitch'. I swore at them but kept waving as if I was glad to see them. When they said "Riff", I'd point at the chart room. When they said "Bitch", I'd do a pelvic thrust. I even did a happy-dance and pretended to spike a football to mutual nervous laughter. We managed to eat up several precious minutes in this manner.

"Dutch!" Otis must have seen a little stir in the water where it mattered. I abruptly turned off the searchlight and left them blind. Hustling back to the cockpit, I put the throttle up one quarter. If Revy was alongside the coaster, we needed to get those unwanted watchers to the starboard side. We motored slowly past the bow of the Russian ship and towards the wharf. We blew our horn to keep all eyes on us while we pulled in.

Usually we'd have a few hands waiting for us to help unload; tonight, there were about ten or so rough men milling around on the platform. I guess the plan was to rush the boat when came alongside. So I kept them waiting: put the bow of the boat within ten feet of the nearest piling with the engines gobbling at idle, and using the shifters pirouetted slowly on its axis. Otis waved like the Queen of England from the ring mount as we came about. Ma Deuce had a clear range of fire on the dock from the starboard side.

I took a look at the coaster, not much of a draft as it was anchored within a hundred meters of the shore and dockside. Sure enough, the shooters had moved over to the starboard side. On cue, the two little boats came bobbing around the bow to box us in.

"Hey Dutch," crackled Otis's voice through the headset.

"Yes?"

"Looks like a number ten-thousand, doesn't it?"

A number ten-thousand was old Nam slang for very bad. Well, Fate's a bitch who plays both sides. The time had come to show these pirates what the Fourth of July was all about.

"Sure does. Otis? Send them to hell."

Otis slammed the bolt release down and whipped the gun barrels on Ma Deuce up. Had just enough time to see the shit-eating grins change to stupefied horror on the faces of the men waiting for us. They realized the joke was on them in the end.

With the heavy metal drumbeat only twin M2 Brownings can make, Otis tore the Pha Kor to pieces in a spray of body parts and wood splinters. He ripped the dock apart. The thunderous pulse of the .50 calibers pounded across the bay.

At the same time I pulled the Milkor grenade launcher to my shoulder and fired the first round with a bang and a whoosh. I knew from past visits that there were gasoline tanks at the fuel dock right by the shore ramp. The grenade slammed into the tanks sending a fireball skyward. A moment later I felt the heat and blast of the explosion roll over us.

Already belated shots were thudding into the boat from the shooters on the coaster. They'd almost been ready for us – but I had to stop them before they got lucky. The five remaining rounds in the Milkor were smoke and flash-bang rounds. Improv is what combat's all about, so I fired all of them at the nearby ship and tossed the launcher aside. And then hissed under my breath… if a pyrotechnic went into the open hold…

Otis continued to pour bullets dockside till there was no one left standing and then stopped. The silence was relative; my ears were ringing.

There was pandemonium by the bonfire. A large, roiling mob of men were running along the beach towards the wharf. Bullets began to snap overhead or smashed into the boat's hull. We were going to get really chewed up if we held our position.

Otis shouted towards me. He had lost his headset, "Got plenty of ammo left, Dutch. Where do you want me to put it?"

I threw the throttle forward, and with a roar swung the boat around to port so we could do a run up along the anchored boats of the Pha Kor.

"Don't stop! Shoot 'em up!"

Ma Deuce roared into action again with an earsplitting racket as we charged down their line. Tracer bullets streaked into the boats, seemed like on every vessel the bodies were tumbling off into the black water. Then we hit a fuel tank on one with an incendiary and there was an explosion too close for comfort. I winced as debris pelted upon the boat.

I managed a look towards the smoke covered coaster and was alarmed to see flashes of light coming from topside towards the stern. Whatever distraction we had provided for Revy was at an end, she'd been made out. The girl was probably going down hard, cornered like a rat.

Otis was out of ammunition with the fifty calibers. After the roar of the big guns, the bark of the M-16 he wielded one handed seemed puny. Time for us to go. Pluck the girl out of the water if she'd been able to bail or make a run out of the Graveyard without her and give Chang my condolences. I banked the boat wide around the stern of the coaster and right into trouble.

One of the two boats out on the water had made an end run around the coaster planning to catch us unaware. We hit the smaller vessel broadside, cutting it in half with a horrific wrench and a scream of stressed metal and breaking wood. Before my head smashed into the dashboard I saw a glimpse of Otis tumbling from the gun mount.

Don't think I got knocked out, but we lost the fabled weekend – or two or three. Until Otis came over with blood streaming down his brow and shook me back to some kind of sense. We'd been brought to a stop, wallowing in the wreckage of the destroyed craft. No one was shooting at us from the deck of the nearby coaster. It was all lit up by all the burning shit at the dock and on the beach. But there was plenty of screaming and boat engines coughing and gobbling. The Pha Kor were going to come after us.

"I see her! I see her!"Otis was frantic, pointing forward with his good hand. "She got off! Ms. Revy's right over there! They're trying to get her!"

"Take the helm!" I shouted and stumbled up to the bow.

We wouldn't have found her in the gloom without the small boat chasing her. She was on the surface and swimming as fast as she could already out in the channel, arms and legs flashing as they tried to pin her down with a flashlight for the kill.

"Go! Go!" I yelled back and unholstered the Smith and Wesson. The boat shuddered and we lurched forward. Damnit! There'd be a crapload of repairs if we survived the night. I was too shaky to take the shot. We needed to be closer. Had to stay cool.

For a moment I thought they'd run her down, but Revy dived before the hit and bobbed up in their wake. But she appeared to be done for, rolling about in the water. We still weren't close enough for accurate shooting in the dark. The small boat whipped around in a tight circle and pulled up alongside the thrashing girl. They started to pull Revy frantically aboard, shouting triumphantly; probably meant to use her as a hostage as we bore down on them.

There was a brilliant flash of light and a scream of agony. Revy flung herself back in the water with a splash and swam hard towards the PT boat. She had pulled the ring on the Solus night flare and rammed the pyrotechnic into the pirate's face. I had the shot and wasted the shrieking man. I think it was the fisherman wanna-be. His companion took a leap off the boat and swam for his life.

I threw Revy a line which she lunged for with a final, desperate effort. She stared up at me and shook her head frantically as I started to pull her aboard.

"Stop it! I'll hang on. I don't wanna come on board right now!" she babbled. Had she taken a hit to the head or something? We didn't have time for this nonsense. The home team had the ball and we had no timeouts.

"Revy!" I bellowed. "Did you plant the charges? How much time do we have?."

She pulled her wrist up out of the water, looked at the watch. "Uh, less than a minute. Why?"

"Motherfucker!" I pulled Revy aboard with a mighty heave, ignoring the protests and yells and dumped her roughly on the deck. I left her there on the bow and ran back to the cockpit.

"Get us out of here, Otis!" and he did.

We barely made it past the rusted hulks guarding the entrance of the Graveyard, with the Pha Kor flotilla streaming after us in pursuit when the coaster detonated. Otis and I had our backs turned away, but for a moment everything went white, like the most god-awful bolt of lightning you can imagine – and then shock wave smacked our asses with a blast of heat.

The coaster hold had been filled to bursting with barrels of acetone and methanol; containers of lithium aluminum hydride and ammonium nitrate, all legal goods on the high seas, but meant for the use in the Burma drug labs. All in all, the ship was a floating bomb. The blast took out all the Pha Kor boats in the enclosure of the bay.

We bounced across the ocean waves, away from the mushroom cloud rising from the shore. I found a crumpled up pack of cigarettes wedged into a corner of the cockpit and lit one up. Otis was howling with laughter, and then we both started cracking up – glad to be alive. We were full-on laughing, the hysterical kind, when Revy staggered our way from the bow.

Revy was butt-naked, the long black hair streaming in the wind and making no effort to cover herself up. She had obviously decided that any try at modesty was a waste.

"Lost my bikini when I flared the guy," she said tersely. She grabbed the pack of cigarettes away from me and hunched over to light up a fag.

"Let me guess?" I said. "Mr. Chang didn't let you smoke?"

She shrugged and puffed furiously away.

"Hey, Ms. Revy! You gotta admit...shooting and blowing stuff up is the most fun you can have without taking your clothes off, isn't it?" Otis bellowed.

"I don't have any clothes on, you stupid fuck!" she barked back. "Do I look like I'm having fun?! Damn! I need a towel. Anything! Get me a fuckin' towel, you dipshit!"

"Be right back," Otis chuckled, shaking with laughter. He stooped down through the bridge hatch.

Looking back at the receding bay and the disaster we had caused, I made sure there were definitely no pursuing boats. I don't think any of the Pha Kor had been clear of the blast. I eased back on the throttle, so I wouldn't have to shout.

"What happened back there? I asked.

"Went to fuckin' hell," she replied, breathing in deep the smoke and releasing it into the sea air. "Ditched the scuba gear like you said and went right up the fire rope. That part was easy. When I cleared the rail, you dumb-asses had gotten their attention and those guys had moved over to the other side. Like you said, the hold was open and covered by a tarp, so I got the gun clear and slipped under the tarp. Movin' fast like you told me to. Then shit started happening."

She looked away. "The containers were packed pretty tight, but I dropped into an open spot in the middle. They had three guys chained up down there. I'm pretty sure they were Ruskies. Beaten up pretty bad, one with a broken leg. They were happy to see me, I guess they thought I was the rescue mission."

"Ah, fuck," I grimaced.

"There was nothing I could do," she protested. "I didn't have bolt cutters and didn't have the time. You'n Otis had started the fireworks. Some dumb-ass dropped a smoke grenade practically on my head, and I was panicking. So I slapped the detonators on top of one of the barrels, set the timer and tried to get the fuck outta there. They started yelling and freaking. One had enough slack and grabbed me, took my shirt right off."

I was silent. She twisted the cigarette in her hand.

"I had to shoot them Dutch," she blurted. "You told me to blow up the boat. The Ruskies would have blabbed to save their hides. They knew where the bombs were... I wasn't there to be a hero..."

"You did good," I said, too harshly. She shuddered and suddenly slid down to the deck in a sprawl of limbs and covered her head with her arms. "It couldn't be helped. You had to make a choice. Either you or them."

We'd have to keep this information under secret from Balalaika. She'd understand in a logical way, but blood was blood. I turned slightly away to check our progress. What Revy needed right now was a pep talk.

"Don't let it get you down," I started. "Malcolm X once said 'there's nothing better than adversity. Every defeat, every heartbreak, every loss, contains its own seed, its own lesson on how to improve your performance the next time--'"

"Ah fuck..." muttered the girl.

I barely heard it, but it was still damn insulting. I turned around.

While I had been talking, Revy had begun to crawl silently towards the edge of the boat. She had been brought to a halt at Otis's feet. He had come up through the day room. Silently, he held out the towel.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Uh, I'm guessing pearl's aren't a girl's best friend..." Revy said weakly. She held up something shiny. One of Riff's pearls from his earring, "Is it my turn now? Neither of ya seem to be all broke up. I know how this goes..."

I stared, then to Otis. "Get her guns."

"I'll do better than that," rumbled Otis. "Ms. Revy, I'm gonna introduce you to a friend of mine, name of Jack Daniels. Be right back."

I waited until she had the towel wrapped about, then dropped down by her on the deck. The autopilot had been engaged and the boat knew the way north.

"You did a hell of a job back there, partner," I said as Otis went below to get the guns and the booze. "We'll watch your back as long as you do the same. Get confused about who's the boss like Riff... then walk before it comes to grief. There'll be no hard feelings. You good?

"Sure," she flicked the pearls aside casually. A smile broke loose on her zebra-striped face. "I didn't like the fuckin' asshole anyway."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five: And There's Nothin' Sure in this World**

The evening news in Bangkok said the explosion was a commercial disaster. For a day or two, they ran heart-wrenching stories about the tragedy at the cursed fishing village of the Devil's Graveyard. After that, those in the know drew the curtain down. No one was going to miss the Pha Kor. No one except for Mickey and Emily Wa.

We took our time on the way back to Roanapur. The Russians had unfinished business with the Wa's, so we stopped at every attractive beach and expat bar we knew along the way. Otis tutored Revy in the fine art of binge-drinking, and they practiced knee-crawling and puking together all the way up the coast. I joined them when I wasn't driving the boat. Our progress was unsteady.

On an afternoon so humid and hot that you felt as if the air was sticking to the back of your throat, we pulled into the familiar harbor. Revy rushed forward to the bow and burned down the dock with the intensity of her gaze as we approached. I guess she was expecting to see the long black limousine – the white scarfed man waiting with a wide grin. I could have told her. Only in a dream...

I watched her shoulders slump and kept my mouth shut.

We tied up the boat. Otis declared blearily he could sleep for a week and stumbled off-- his way of staying out of any messy business. But I had already contacted a source and knew the story's end. So I went to the Wa's with Revy at my side. She wanted a word, but I knew there was no one left to talk with.

Came in through the back gate of the compound and found Mickey and two of his associates eating gravel at the rear. Shot in the back as they tried to run. Neither of the dead men with Mickey were Chin, what a damn shame. Found out later he'd made a deal with Chang and taken a holiday before the showdown. We'd be hearing from that cretin again.

A radio was playing from one of the air-conditioned rooms as a soundtrack. A snarling voice over metal chords. Wasn't my thing, but Billy Idol had been away a long time.

Emily was sprawled in a bright green dress at the top of the stairs, a Walther PPK near an outstretched hand. I remember her telling me, with a tremor of pride in her voice, about how magnificent the stairway was. Far more magnificent than the one from _Gone With the Wind_. Like a brother could admire shit like that.

Unlike her gutless husband, Emily had gone down fighting. Making a grand scene, or so I was told later, screaming curses at the Russians until Balalaika herself took Emily down with a mercy shot. When I laid a hand to her face, her flesh was cool to the touch.

"So who's got the mark now, bitch?" declared Revy. Disappointment laced her tone. "Only wish I'd been the one."

"We're done." I turned my back on the past and started down the wide stairs.

"Wait a minute," grunted Revy. She knelt down and stripped the diamond rings from Emily's hand. Threw me a sideways glance that was almost guilty. "She's not gonna need these anymore."

I kept going.

**END**


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